From The Bottom Up
by Sweet Whispers of Chaos
Summary: Theyre both lost and ready to find each other. Draco is a wandering alcoholic with no future plan. Hermione is completing healer school with no future plan. They will help each other heal and move on. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The light from the morning sunrise warmed his back, which shone lily white next to the soft yellow and tan shades of the sand he lay upon. Ocean water lapped at his glowing feet while seagulls cawed gently over head. The warmth of the sea breeze kissed his stubble chin, the corner of his mouth rising to a sly smirk just as a beautiful, busty brunette in a sparsely covering bright-red bikini came bouncing into view.

"Draco"

Ohhhhh, she knows his name, he thought dreamily as a nudge in his shorts dared to give him away. The cat like grin on his face widened in anticipation.

"Draco, darling. Can you hear me? It's mother."

Mother? Whose mother? And then realization struck him, hard. He woke with a start and immediately threw his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the false, incandescent light coming from a long row of lights above his bed. Draco relaxed his body and peeked from under his arm. Gone were the sun and the busty woman, replaced now by stark white surroundings and the face of his mother, a furrow of concern resting on her brow.

"Mother." He slurred with a touch of disdain on his tongue. "Where am I and why in bloody hell is it so bright in here?"

She remained unaffected by his brazen attitude and answered his question in hushed, cool tones. "You are currently residing in the Recovery And Treatment Section of St. Mungo's. Prior to a few hours ago, I have it on good authority that you were on day three of a fire whiskey binge in the Three Broomsticks. Madame Rosmerta flooed St. Mungo's after you threw your spirit glass at another patron and attempted a slashing curse. Unfortunately for you, not only did you manage to hit your intended target, but the spell partially backfired. Your inebriated state no doubt played a part in your lack of full spell success. You managed not to do any serious damage to yourself other than some disgusting cuts across your chest, and the patron also suffered minor cuts to his arm and shoulder, but Madame Rosmerta is not entirely pleased with you, to say the least. I fear your physical pain will pale in comparison to your future legal issues. Again."

Draco closed his eyes and tried to think back through the unreceptive fog surrounding his brain, seeking some truth in his mother's words, but all he could find was a strong desire to dispel a series of shot glasses filled with fire whiskey into his mouth. He drew in a slow breath and let it go at the same smooth pace, trying to clear the haze that was hanging heavy behind his eyes. While trying to clear the cloud, he became acutely aware of the sound of someone breathing on the other side of the room. When he opened his eyes the flash of red in the bed next to him sent his blood to a boiling point.

"What the hell is that weasel-arse doing here?" he snarled, his voice igniting with rage and disgust.

"Would you please keep your voice down?" Hissed Narcissa, "Thanks to your inebriated state at the pub, Mr. Weasley is your room mate here for the time being."

"Like hell he is!" Draco roared hoarsely, though the only movement he could muster was a slight eye roll as he clutched the railing of his bed.

A strangled voice grumbled from the other bed. "Malfoy, shut your whining trap, I'm trying to sleep."

Draco wanted to throw his pillow towards the red headed freak, but his body felt as though it weighed 500 galleons, so instead he growled through gritted teeth and sunk back into his bed, wishing at that moment to disappear into a bottle of fire whiskey once more.

The row of service floo in the basement of St. Mungo's lay dormant at 5:30AM Monday morning, that is, until Hermione Granger appeared at the end of the hallway, stepping aimlessly through the green flames of the last fireplace on the right, her nose tucked behind a rather thick medical book entitled "Communicable Diseases in the Wizarding Community in the 1600's." Her steps were light but purposeful, her book bag slung over the shoulder of her white student robes.

After completing her 7th and final year at Hogwarts, top of her class, with a world of options at her finger tips, Hermione felt bound for a career in the medical field and entered the Healers School at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She was ready to face the world head on and become the best healer the wizarding world had ever seen.

Three years in to her four year long program found her single, overwhelmed, frazzled, and, in general, unsure of what life could hold beyond the dank white walls of the hospital and a life filled with the sick, the hurt, and the twisted that stepped through the doors day in and day out in search of healing. She still had friends, of course. She was thrilled to stand by her two best friends as Maid of Honor when Harry and Ginny wed the summer before and Luna visited Hermione at the hospital often with the latest copy of the Quibbler. Ron begrudgingly maintained some limited owl contact, though Hermione knew that had to be at the urging of his mother. She loved Molly Weasley as a friend and practical second mother, but she feared the aging woman had taken her break up with Ron harder even than he had.

Hermione wanted to go to medical school; Ron wanted someone like his mother. Hermione held Molly in great regard, respecting the hard work and compassion the woman shared with her children and in pursuit of the safety of their world, but Hermione always knew she wanted a career, and a demanding one at that. Ron, being the impatient man he is, didn't want to wait for a career woman. Ironically, after breaking up three years ago, Ron was still single, and waiting, Hermione presumed, for her to finish school. But the demands of school and the time apart twisted Hermione's feelings of guilt and uncertainty into a shield around her heart and blinders on her eyes. The only things she saw were medical texts and tools and the only feelings she felt were the small ones she let linger for her patients every once in a while, mainly children and the elderly.

On this morning, Hermione arrived an hour early, like always, to check over her charts and begin her rounds. In her final year as a student, she had earned the right after passing her Healer Open Objectives Test (HOOT) with perfect marks, to begin working as Healer In Training, or HIT. This allowed her to take on patients with minor illness and injury under the guidance of a senior level Healer. In this case, she reported to Head Mediwizard Barnacus, the top man of the hospital. HM Barnacus didn't usually work with HIT's but he took a special interest in Hermione and her training, as she was the most accomplished student the hospital had ever seen.

Hermione stopped by the HIT's office to place her bag and book in her desk drawer and sign in to the roster for the day. Owls flew in shortly after her arrival, placing stacks of brown folders on the three dusty desks crammed into the tiny, dimly lit office. Hermione removed her student Healer coat and placed it on the back of her chair, pulled her wild brown curls into a messy bun on the top of her head, and and sat at her desk to begin her day. She absentmindedly sipped at her cup of tea and began thumbing through her patients for the day when two names, in folders back to back, brought her up short. The names "Malfoy-Room 402" and "Weasley-Room 402" all but reached out and slapped her slacken jaw clear off of her face. What on earth could those two idiots have done now and why in Morgana were they in the same room?

Disregarding the remaining folders of the stack, Hermione collected her coat from the back of the chair, picked up the two folders, and made for the lift around the corner from her office. One the ride up to the fourth floor she read over the notes in each mans file. "Pub fight. Honestly Ronald, I should have known" she sighed to herself. As the lift came to a halt the gate swung open and Hermione looked up from her files just as she walked smack dab into Narcissa Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

The young witch groaned as she rose up on one elbow, her whole body suddenly very sore. The elder witch lay beside Hermione, a mess of fancy robes and gemstone jewelry, strands of silver hair falling from her tight chignon. Hermione leapt to her feet and immediately reached her hand out to Mrs. Malfoy, hesitating at the curious glare the woman gave her as she sat up.

"Oh Mrs. Malfoy, I am so incredibly sorry. Please let me help you to your feet." Hermione tried to mask the sheer panic in her voice as she once again held out her hand to the witch on the floor.

Mrs. Malfoy looked at Hermione's outstretched hand, paused for a moment, then looked back into her eyes as she placed her delicate hand into Hermione's. "Thank you Ms. Granger, for your assistance."

Hermione gave a gentle pull as Narcissa rose to her feet, smoothing down the dark green velvet brocade of the long dress she wore under her deep black robes. Hermione reached down to her left to retrieve the two folders she had been studying when she exited the lift and walked right into Mrs. Malfoy. She collected both files and straightened back to find the older witch standing with a curious and guarded look upon her face.

"Are you a healer here Ms. Granger" Narcissa asked with polite interest.

"I am in my final year as a Healer In Training, mam. I am very sorry again for my clumsiness. I hope you aren't hurt?" Hermione asked, hoping Mrs. Malfoy would take her genuine concern into account, in case she were considering taking this to her superiors.

"I'm fine Ms. Granger, and I hope you are as well. Best wishes as you complete your training." Her thin lips pursed into a small smile and with a slight nod of her head, Narcissa swept into the lift and disappeared from sight.

Hermione blew a wild strand of hair from her face and stood still, completely rattled by this encounter. She wondered if Mrs. Malfoy saw the names on the files she had been carrying? How could Hermione have been so clumsy? She tucked the loose curl behind her ear, took a few slow, deep breaths to slow her pounding heart, and turned up the hall towards room 402. As if she wasn't already nervous about seeing the two men who occupied room 402, now she was entirely unnerved by her run in with Mrs. Malfoy. She had to relax or she might literally jump out of her own skin. The woman was formal but kind, not at all what Hermione would have expected. Considering the hell the witch had been through with her husband's imprisonment in Azkaban and obvious childish antics of her only offspring, Hermione marveled at how well the woman seemed to be holding it together.

Hermione paused just outside the door of room 402, drew in one more calming breath, put on her serious HIT face and entered. The lights were off and the curtain pulled slightly between the two beds. Other than dim morning light from the window on the opposite side of the room and the incandescent light flooding in from the hall where she had opened the door, the room was quite obscure. Ron was asleep in the bed closest to the door, snoring wildly with the faintest hint of drool shining on his chin. Hermione had to smile a little at the sight of her friend in such an innocent position. Then he passed gas as he rolled off his back and over towards the door she was standing in and she instantly remembered how unrefined life could be in Ron Weasleys presence.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Granger?"

The cutting words snapped her out of her reminiscing and caused her breath to hitch in her throat, freezing her to the spot where she stood. She squinted into the dark and from across the room made out the faint outline of a tall, white haired figure, dressed in all black, his outline only barely visible as he leaned in the frame of the window. It took Hermione a few beats to realize he was holding a cigarette, as she saw the faint orange glow move from his side to his mouth, where he drew in a long, languid breath of smoke before leisurely releasing it and letting the hand holding the butt fall back to his side.

"Mr. Malfoy, there is no smoking inside the hospital. Please put out your cigarette at once." She spat without moving from her place just inside the door.

From the shadows she noticed a slight crooked grin grace the side of his dimly lit face, as he dropped the butt to the floor and stepped on it, creating a small, ashen mark on the white tiled floor.

"You didn't answer my question." He stated, as he moved away from the window, taking a few long, graceful strides before coming to a stop just inches away from where she stood, towering over her in the light of the open room door. "What the fuck are you doing here, Granger? Visiting your beloved red douchebag?"

Hermione looked up at the man, her mouth slightly parted, suddenly finding the lack of distance between them suffocating, and for a moment she found herself at a complete loss for words. As he moved into the light she realized the man was a much different image from the boy she had known in her youth. His blonde hair was long, dry, and unkempt, his skin even more pale than usual, sinking in slightly at his cheeks. It was obvious he had lost weight. The most noticeable change was his swollen, red eyes that were eclipsed on the underside by deep black and purple circles. He looked as if he hadn't slept in years. Hermione took in these changes with an appraising look, noting the smell of firewisky radiating from his pores and the expression of sadness in his eyes. This was a very different person indeed.

"Cat got your tongue?" He asked bleakly, smirking again, though the look of amusement never reached his gloomy, grey eyes.

"My apologies Mr. Malfoy. I'm here to do your morning assessment." She spoke in less than assured tones, never taking her eyes off of his.

Without moving, his eyes traveled down to the nametag at her left chest area, and then rose to meet hers again. His chortle caught in his throat, causing him to cough behind the small smirk that remained on his face. Once he caught his breath he took another small step towards her, closing the gap between them, his chin turned down to look her in the eye, as he towered almost a whole heads worth over her. She could see large bandages on his chest peeking out from atop the half done buttons of his black shirt. "Oh perfect little Granger, a Healer. I should have known. Here to save me are you?" He leaned down and placed his mouth to her ear, his hot, smoky breath lapped at her skin as he spoke, barely above a whisper. "You and what Army this time?"

She froze, eyes wide, as the hair on her arms rose to attention. She watched as he straightened back up, smirked his sad smirk again, and then stepped around her and out of the door, leaving behind only the foul stench of his firewhiskey and cigarette cologne. She couldn't move. She could barely breath. What in the whole of wizardry had happened to that man?


End file.
